


Would you kindly?

by Damoiselle



Series: Little Miss Stark [2]
Category: BioShock, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Multi, Rapture (Bioshock), Tony/OFC (past), original child character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damoiselle/pseuds/Damoiselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told me - "Tony, you're special. You were born to do great things.<br/>One day you will change the world."</p><p>And you know what?<br/>He was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Greatest Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This beginning of something awful.

**Mid-Atlantic  
** **2001**

He told me - " _Tony, you're special. You were born to do great things._

_One day you will change the world."  
  
_ And you know what?

He was right.

\--- 

Ten years. It's been ten years to the day since the auto-mobile accident that orphaned him, and yet he's en route to rendezvous with his parents. There's nothing about this situation that doesn't bother him, but what choice does he have? They've take his greatest creation - his everything - and no amount of cyber-sleuthing has been able to locate her, leaving him no alternate course of action. He has to comply. 

They have his daughter. 

Only she doesn't look like his daughter any more. 

As the stewardess approaches - "I'm sorry did you need something?" - he struggles to pull his wallet from his back pocket with every intention of ordering a large glass of the hardest liquor they're carrying. He's been clean for almost seven years now, thanks in no small part to his daughter, but these are extenuating circumstances. It's too much. If he doesn't do something to calm his nerves he's going to crack. 

"Sir, did you need something?" she repeats, leaning in to await his order. On any other day he'd have smiled, charmed her, but as his wallet falls open he's reminded of what he's lost, and it's a few minutes more before he can so much as part his lips. Those big brown eyes are staring back at him, and he can almost imagining them narrowing; her little brows furrowing as her bottom lip protrudes, because she knows what he's doing - she's _always_ known - and there's no excuse. Not really. 

"Mr. Stark?" 

The woman - obviously oblivious to his inner conflict - persists until he mumbles something about a glass of water, and nothing more. It's not what he wants. That's not even what he wants to say - because he's _not_ Mr. Stark, he's _just_ Tony - but it's enough to satisfy her. Enough to convince her to leave him be as he turns his attentions back to the faded old photos and wonders where she is, his little Ciara, and if she's happy there. "I'll get it right away" she promises, deep red lips curving into a comforting smile. 

He wants to tell her to take her time but, in truth, she's the first kind face he's seen in weeks and there's something about those baby blues that proves captivating enough to keep his attention. Even if only for a few minutes more. 

Perhaps under better circumstances, he tells himself, he'd have proven more sociable. As it is there's too much on the line - too much riding on this trip to nowhere - for him to risk losing focus now. He knows what he has to do and, as the the time for action draws nearer, he pockets his wallet again for fear of losing all the precious memories held within it. He's going to need those photos to remind him exactly what it is - who it is - he's doing this for. Even the one that doesn't look like his daughter. 

Especially the one that doesn't look like his daughter. 

The little raven-haired girl with the pallid complexion, eyes unnaturally golden, standing next a hulking monstrosity as if it were no more threatening that a teddy or a small dog. She was smiling, but somehow that made him more uneasy than anything else. Where were the faded old jeans? The dirty shirts? Who'd redressed her? Tied the bow in her hair? And why bother? 

"Your water, sir." 

Again she manages to tear him from the chaos of his own thoughts, folding down his tray and placing the chilled glass down as if somehow aware that he's not capable of doing so himself. The package is still sitting on his lap, just begging to be opened, explored, but the instructions are clear.

_Would you kindly not open until:_

_63° 2' N 29° 55' W_

And so he waits, but not patiently. Never patiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I accidentally a crossover.


	2. From The Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper Potts to the rescue.

The next sound to reach his ears was the engines squealing, followed by that of his heart attempting to beat itself clear of his chest as a lack of oxygen leaves him struggling. He wants to inhale - wants to open his mouth and breathe deeply - but his instincts, and the large mass of water surrounding him, keep him from falling victim to his own stupidity. Instead he opens his eyes just in time to see a large portion of what he's relatively sure used to be the plane's turbines consumed by the darkness beneath him.

Darkness that he too shall surely be lost to should he linger.

 

But his survival is not a simple matter. Although the cold no longer bothers him - likely he's been submerged longer than he'd have liked - his movements are sluggish, and his efforts uncoordinated. To make it all that much worse it's becoming difficult to keep his eyes from closing, impossible to maintain any semblance of a rational thought, and he's scared. For the first time in his life Anthony Edward Stark is afraid - but not of death, or drowning, or hypothermia. His fears are far more personal.

The little girl - the one that doesn't look like his daughter - is all alone out there, wondering if she's worth while because he's never had the balls to tell her as much.

Because _his_ father never told him as much.

Looking back on all the mistakes he's made - he's made more than his fair share - he thinks that this is, quite possibly, the most tragic. For a little girl to be left to question her own existence as he was for the ten years following his father's passing. Apparent passing. For a moment he allows himself to consider the possibility that such a girl is better off without him for father. Just a moment, but a moment too long it seems, for soon he too is consumed by the darkness and the world around him fades.

_One day you will change the world._

\---

Her mother always told her that when she met him - when she met the one - her life would change in an instant, but she couldn't have known how true that would be. Virginia Potts had been partaking in a little harmless flirting, hoping to calm a particularly distinguished customer's nerves, when it happened. When she fell - quite literally - for him. She'd offered him a drink. Water. A drink she wasn't sure he'd appreciate now that they were drowning in it.

There are a few vague memories - a gun shot, screaming and the fall - but most are quickly forgotten when the shock sets in. A great many bodies bobbing amidst the wreckage remind her that she needs to move, needs to fight, if she's to survive, and that she does. The debris prove useful as flotation devices. So much so that she's near paddled her way to an old lighthouse before he catches her eye. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist - Tony Stark - is bobbing off to one side.

"S-sir?" she stammers, unable to keep her teeth from chattering. Even if she gets to the lighthouse there's every chance she's going to die tonight, that the cold will take her and she'll fall into the dreamless sleep. Virginia knows - accepts, even - that her fate might be sealed, but there's a flicker of hope within her. Small, and fragile, but still there.

It's the hope that guides her to him, pushes her to pull him up from beneath the sea and kick them both to the winding staircase. Will it be their salvation or their end? She's not sure it matters - or that she cares - any more. Not as she's dragging him to it, up it, with what little strength she can muster. There's a few agonising minutes of silence in which Virginia begins to suspect that she's been carting a corpse along behind her, but finally he begins to cough and she's not alone any more. Her hopes were not in vain.

She doesn't have to die alone.

\---

When Tony wakes he's no longer drowning, and he's relieved. So much so that he's laughing in spite of the aches - the icy chill of his skin - which, of course, only serves to confuse his companion. He sees those baby blues gazing back at him, full of concern, and again he's relieved because he's not alone. "Sir?" she rasps quietly and he can see she's shivering, wrapped in what looks to be a dusty old curtain. Similar to that which he appears to be wearing. A curtain - and nothing else.

There's logic there. Likely they'd both freeze to death if they remained saturated, but it doesn't seem likely that either of them will be comfortable so long as they remain unclothed. Not because Tony's a particularly pious man - far from it - but because every cool midnight breeze that passes the lighthouse door leaves them gasping. For a moment he considers asking her to close it, if only because he's not sure he has the strength, but quickly thinks better of it. How are they to be rescued if they're obscured from view? "S-sir?" she stammers again, this time with a little firmer than the last.

"Tony," he responds vacantly. "C-call me Tony."

"Virginia," she offers."Virginia Potts."

Whatever she was going to say is forgotten as they both dwell on the absurdity of proper introductions given the circumstances. Then Tony begins to remember. He remembers drowning - making his peace - and wandering what would become of his- "Ciara?" he gasps, springing to life and panicking somewhat when he realises he's no idea where his pants and - consequently - his wallet have been placed.

Virginia startles easily, drawing back a moment before taking a stab in the dark and pointing to a small piece of rope stretched from one end of the room to the other. Their clothes appear to be drip-drying in front of a very familiar face. "...you've got to be kidding me," he murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep from losing what remains of his sanity. It doesn't matter how long he looks away - or how hard he tries to forget - because when he turns his eyes back again his father is still there.

Carved in stone.

"Tony, are... are you okay?"

And it seems as if their curtain is actually a banner.

"You don't look too good." 

And it reads: ' _Everything is achievable through technology_ '

He's unsure as to which it is that claims him then - the shock or the cold - but, as with before, everything fades and he can only hope that when he wakes it will be somewhere warmer. And less horrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going somewhere awful. I just know it.  
> 


End file.
